Flotsam and Jetsam
by TangleToy
Summary: Zan journeys to the Morlock tunnels. True sequel to No Safe Haven.
1. Part One

Title: Flotsam and Jetsam Part One 

Author: Tangles or TangleToy 

Email: TangleToy@cs.com or TangleToy@hotmail.com 

Disclaimer: Marvel owns the Morlocks, the tunnels, and the mutant universe in general. I own Zan, Jet, Skitter, Mandrake, and the Haven community. I'm not making any money off this story, and no harm or copyright infringement is meant. It's all fun until someone pokes and eye out. 

Story Notes: This tale takes place when Storm had leadership of the Morlocks, before the Mutant Massacre. I am also using the original Morlock origins and ignoring the whole Dark Beast AOA plot. I like the original origin story better anyway. 

Author Notes: A writer is nothing without her beta readers. Mine are: Lady Arkane, WinterOak, Evenstar, Manda, Carma, and Colin. Any mistakes after them belong only to me. No MSTing or Pop ups please. If you're interested in borrowing Haven, just ask so I can get first reader dibs. Ask before archiving so I can bookmark the page. 

Feedback: I like hearing from my readers. Tell me what you like and what you don't. Flamers will be fed to the Fiend With No Name. 

Summary: Zan begins the journey to the Morlock tunnels. True sequel to No Safe Haven. 

Flotsam and Jetsam - part one 

By TangleToy 

"Men and women, great and small Cared for no one, not at all Sowed their will nots, reaped the same Sun, moon, stars, rain" - Anonymous 

The map JuneBug had given Zan put Morlock territory one mile below the streets of New York City. That meant she would have to climb down and move through a great deal of tunnel before reaching the barest outskirts of her destination. However, there was also no guarantee that after one mile someone would be there to greet her. She just had to hope she bumped into someone, rather than be forced to search further into the tunnels. 

Zan stood in the back alley of a nightclub. According to the directions scribbled on an envelope, the entrance to the first tunnel was close by the fire exit door. The club itself resided in a converted old church, and was a popular Goth hangout. With all the strange and dark costumed patrons milling about in the alley and front walk, Zan was less conspicuous in her appearance as a lost soul. Everyone around looked like they were outsiders in the human race. 

Zan easily found the piece of levering pipe in its hiding place. Stuffed in a storm drain, she didn't know how she could return it to its original hiding place when she was done. But she also didn't care. Her only priority was getting into the tunnels. 

'But how,' she wondered, 'to pop open the manhole cover without causing a scene?' Freezing the club goers wasn't an option. They wandered in and out of the alley, and Zan couldn't freeze them all fast enough before someone ran. Besides anyone wandering back after she was done would find human statues all around, proving a mutant had been there. Someone would get curious, and that would compromise the Morlock tunnel entrance. God forbid the FOH found it. 

She could pull herself partway out of the time stream. To onlookers Zan would be invisible, when in truth she was merely appearing outside of their temporal perceptions. The trouble though with walking and moving about in stilled time was, she couldn't open anything. She could only walk through already opened paths. That meant the cover had to be opened before Zan did her trick. 

Alexzandra stood there trying to puzzle out how the mutants before her managed the same feat, when the answer delivered itself in a flurry of flashing lights and sirens. The local police were raiding the club. Under aged kids, patrons on drugs or dealing, and anyone not wanting to be hassled began to pour out of the one-time church. It was pandemonium, and a perfect cover. 

No one was paying attention to the sixteen year old as she pried open the manhole cover and climbed down drawing it back over with a struggle. However just to be sure she wasn't followed, Zan activated her mutant gift of time manipulation and began her decent. Everything around her looked stuck in place and unmoving, signaling her entrance into still time. It suited her fine, since she didn't really miss the scuttling sound of the rats. 

Down in the 'Alley' a message was delivered. There were no phones, and mailmen were scarce, but the delivery was simple. A set of male twins, uncovered in the search by Callisto and Caliban, used their mental link as a crude phone, with the Haven community at one end and the Morlocks on the other. Besides that link there was no real communication between the two factions. 

The message, sent by Emily and JuneBug, explained to those on the other end: "Put into your care one package of sixteen kittens, and a watchmaker's nightmare. Hell can have it, since Haven doesn't want it." The messages were always encoded like that, as both communities were afraid someone someday would overhear and find them. 

The Morlock twin, Prometheus, turned with unseeing eyes to the others nearby, "Haven is casting out another. It's a girl. She's young too, sixteen. They used a code phrase I'm unfamiliar with, a watchmaker's nightmare." 

"Damnit," someone nearby cursed. "They're sending us a friggin' time manipulator. I thought they all donned spandex and made like heroes?" There was grumbling among those in the small room. 

A Morlock named Skitter stepped forward. Her name above had been Leigh, but down among these people she was merely Skitter. She was petite in stature, only just over five feet tall. Her brown hair hung in straight shaggy layers to her shoulders giving her a frayed look; and her eyes were completely black, like a rodent's. She had come to the Morlock tunnels after being cast out from the Haven herself. 

"I know who she is," Skitter said softly. She had encountered the coming mutant in the Haven building more than once. Emily's pup was how she was referred to. "Her name is Zan, Alexzandra Kinder. She can't effect wide spread change. She's able still the time around a person freezing them in their action, or she can pull herself out of the time stream and reappear elsewhere. I've seen her do it." 

Skitter failed to supply that Zan had spent time in her home as a friend and companion to her children; or that Zan's keeper, Emily, was the one to raise the suspicion that ultimately forced Skitter's expulsion from Haven building. Some things were better left unsaid. 

"Upworld scum!" a bumpy purple Morlock complained from the shadows. "Sun dweller can't make it in the world and so they send her to us? What are we, a dumping ground for their worthless cast offs?" 

"Hush, hush people," Callisto commanded in her rough voice. "They did us a favor, Haven did. Think-think what a time witch can do for us. I say let the pretty doll come down. If she wants to stay, she does what we say." 

Callisto swept her one-eyed gaze across those assembled, and tried to push her convictions into them through sheer will. Technically, she was no longer their leader. The Weather Witch, one of Xavier's lap dogs, was chief of the Morlocks. However Ororo wasn't among those in the tunnels right then; and it was up to Callisto to decide what was best for her people. 

Mandrake, a short wrinkled man stepped forward with a sour look on his face. His gift was to absorb poisons, and the blood in his veins ran toxic to everyone but him. He had come into his powers late in life, and the senior citizen had allowed Masque to change him to look like the little root man his name derived from. 

"We can't keep taking their garbage," Mandrake snapped bitterly. "Haven wanted to stay up world, so make them stay there. We have enough people here to try and feed. Winter's coming, and the ones we got need full bellies. Send this girl away. She's not one of us." 

Shouts of agreement were called out, and the group threatened to step over the verge of boisterous. Staffs struck the hard ground, feet stomped, and 'hear, hears' bounced along the chamber. No one wanted to share what little he or she had with a sun dweller. If making noise on a hill in winter could chase the cold and wake the sun, then they could chase the idea of being the bottom of the barrel by sending off this Haven girl with their loud protests. 

Stepping into the center of the room came a tall, broad mutant paler than milk. No one heeded his movements, because they all knew him as a gentle giant. He was the man with the mind of an innocent. "Caliban likes new friends," he mumbled like a child trying to explain the universe to an adult. "Caliban wants to meet new heaven girl." 

No one paid him mind except Callisto. She patted his arm while flinching from the noise around her, and Caliban smiled warming to his subject. Louder this time, so that the others would hear him he announced, "Caliban wants to meet new heaven girl." 

The Morlocks fell silent as all eyes went to the Goliath among them. Caliban had joined with Callisto to guide them to the tunnels. He had found them all like a mother cat gathering her kittens to their new den, and each owed him some gratitude for the chance at a new beginning. 

"Caliban likes new friends," the gentle mutant told them in case they missed it the first time. "Caliban likes new friends, and wants to meet the heaven girl." 

"Haven," Mandrake corrected stiffly. "The girl is from Haven not Heaven. Trust me there's a difference, boy. " 

Caliban looked into Mandrake's face with tenderness. 'You do not understand,' he thought. 'You can't know that every mutant that comes to us, whether by choice or chance, is heeding a call from heaven. But you should. God never meant us to be so alone in this world, and that's why we've joined together. We are all heavenly indeed.' 

"Caliban wants to meet heaven girl," the mutant tried to explain again. 

What he was saying seemed so simple to him. He couldn't understand why these people never understood him. He turned to his friend Callisto, whom always understood, and she was glaring at the other Morlocks from under knitted brows. She knew, and she would make them let the Haven child come. 

"We can't turn her away," Callisto reasoned. "We formed this underground home because the world threw us away. What right do we have to do the same to this girl now? We'd be no better than Upworld scum." 

Callisto's body shook with strained tension. Her followers had never forced her to explain her decisions or actions. She blamed Xavier's people for this. She blamed the Weather Witch. They came in and changed everything, then up and left without a backward glance. No one had heard from them in months, and winter was coming for her people. The X-men were probably safe and warm inside a pretty house, living among the flatscans who made life miserable for every mutant. The Morlocks, however, were struggling everyday to just live their dream in peace in the tunnels away from normal eyes. The unfairness was enough to make Callisto want to vomit burning fire. 

"The pretty doll is welcome here," she announced plainly. Then she quietly repeated, "Welcome here." 

Moving through the group to the branch tunnel leading to her own private sleep space, Callisto mumbled to each face she passed, "Welcome here." It was like an absolution and benediction in one phrase, and the Morlocks felt the bond that made them a community being strengthened. Each time Callisto repeated the phrase she knitted their souls together. 

Zan had been crawling through the muck for what seemed like hours. She had abandoned still time to walk in the present moment after the first couple dimly lit tunnels. The young mutant didn't want to chance missing someone from the Morlock community. Emily had said there would be a sentry before the actual living sites, and June had warned that the guard was the first line of Morlock defense. 

"Expect to come into contact with someone who can kick your ass first," June had cautioned her. "Don't give 'em a reason to hand you your head, because he will. Be smart for once." 

So Alexzandra was prepared for someone when she reached a turn in the tunnel and came upon a barrier gate. According to her map this marked the one-mile point. It would be the logical place to put a lookout. She approached slowly with careful steps, keeping a wary eye for any movement. She reached out a hand to the gate, leaning her weight into trying to push it open, but it wouldn't budge. It was locked. 

"Damn," Zan muttered darkly. She didn't see anyone with a key. Maybe there was no sentry because they thought the locked barrier gate was enough. "Now what?" 

"Now what indeed?" a mocking reply came from behind her. 

Other than the voice Zan hadn't heard a sound. She spun about surprised that someone snuck up behind her. But no one was there as far as she could see. She scanned the length of tunnel leading away, and then studied the walls as she turned back to the locked gate; but she still didn't see a soul. Sucking in her breath she held it to quiet, trying to hear any sound other than the ones she made. Only her heartbeat thudded in her ears. 

"Who's there?" Zan demanded. "Come out where I can see you." 

A throaty chuckle floated around her, bouncing off the walls to come from everywhere. A low wooing whistle followed the eerie humor, and something struck the pits of Zan's knees causing her to fall backwards into the muck. Her head bounced off the hard floor, and stars danced in her vision. The end of a Bo staff rested at the hollow of her throat. 

"You're in no position," her attacker warned, "to be ordering anyone around. Now, who are you, and why are you here? And don't make me force the answers out of you." 

Zan's eyes cleared and she found herself looking up at the dark face of the Morlock perimeter guard. His skin, matte black, was darker than the deepest hole. His straight hair hung past his shoulders, and was like dark blue ink. Gazing steadily from under navy brows were light azure eyes, a surprise contrast to the darkness of his skin. Pointed elfin ears completed the odd appearance. 

"Well?" he asked poking her shoulder with his staff. "Don't lay there dumb." 

"I'm Alexzandra Kinder, Zan mostly," she explained slowly. She couldn't look away from his eyes. They were so strange. She guessed his age at about eighteen. "I was sent by the Haven community." 

The guard didn't move his staff, keeping it hovering where it could still do damage with a quick thrust. "Prove it," he ordered. 

"Prove it?" Zan asked incredulously. "How? It's not like we tattoo property of Haven on our asses. Give me a fucking break. Prove you're a Morlock." 

Her attacker placed his staff over her heart and leaned heavily, grinding it into her skin and ribs; and she screamed out, "All right! I'll prove it! I'll prove it." 

The staff was lifted, and she grimaced clutching her hand over the spot. "We sent a woman named Leigh last winter. She's also called Skitter. She had two kids, but one of 'em died from cold in his lungs." 

Apparently the strange young man knew whom she spoke of, because he backed up and reached down to give her a hand up. "Sorry about that, but I had to be sure." 

"Really?" Zan asked with some venom. "I didn't think your group got many tourists down this way." 

Quirking an eyebrow, the Morlock shrugged with indifference to the harsh tone, "Well, you're wandering down here." His smile was disarming. "My name's Jet or Jetsam. C'mon and I'll take you to the main chambers." 

"Aren't you afraid," Zan baited, "that someone might slip by while you're taking me in further?" 

Jet gave her a sideways glance frowning, "Do you want to wander through the tunnels and hope you find the rest of us?" He waited until she shook her head no. "Then shut up, and be grateful for my help." 

~Fin Part One~ 


	2. Part Two

Title: Flotsam and Jetsam Part Two  
  
Author: Tangles or TangleToy  
  
Email: tangltoy@optonline.net or TangleToy@hotmail.com  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own the Morlocks, or the universe they are set in. Marvel does. No copyright infringement was meant by this work; and try as I might I'm making no money off this endeavor. I do own several of the original characters thrown in the story. But since I'm not making any money off the fic I can't pay myself, and therefore I'm still making squat.   
  
Story Notes: This is the second part in the Flotsam and Jetsam series, which in itself is a sequel to a previous fic. Want to start at the beginning? Head over to my page: http://www.crosswinds.net/~tangletoy The timeline for this story is set during the point Storm had leadership of the Morlocks. I've decided to use the original Morlock origin and ignore the whole AOA Dark Beast retcon. If Marvel can change history on a whim, then so can I.   
  
Author notes: I'd like to thank Manda and WinterOak for pestering me with questions about the story, and making me think the plot lines through. You guys are the best. I would also like to thank my wonderful beta readers: Colin, Manda, Andrew, Winter, Carma Sari, and Evenstar (especially Evenstar who did this twice 'cause I lost the first set of notes). No MSTing or pop ups please. I also ask that anyone wishing to archive, to please ask so I know what archive URL I'm book marking. Anyone wanting to borrow Haven or my characters please let me know. Thank you.  
  
Feedback: I like feedback. No really, I'm not kidding. tangltoy@optonline.net Flamers will be fed to ravenous Bamfs.  
  
Summary: Part two of the Flotsam and Jetsam series. Zan meets with an old friend. This is rated PG-13 for language.  
  
  
Flotsam and Jetsam Part Two  
  
By TangleToy  
  
Zan followed Jet, silent for the most part, letting the hard tap-tap of his Bo staff mark time. As she moved deeper into the tunnels the light from the sparse fixtures took a harsh aspect. Shadows became darker and seemed to open into deep voids between the pools of fluorescent light. The air was colder and smelled like things both rotting and growing at once. Her bones started to ache from the humidity and chill and Zan could feel herself slowly sliding into a bleak, helpless anger.  
  
"How long 'til we get the hell where we're going?" Zan asked Jet with irritation in her tone.   
  
"Patience is a virtue Sun Dweller," the dark skinned Jet scolded. "Didn't you learn that in the Upworld?" Jetsam knew what Zan was feeling, even if he wouldn't permit himself to sympathize.   
  
When he joined the underground community three years ago, he had thought of the Greek tales of Hades as he traveled the tunnels. He felt he was a soul on its way to live with the dead, and that only in his next life could he return to the surface. Jet was sure Zan now felt like she was traveling to a similar fate.  
  
"Patience may be a virtue," Zan quoted the pop culture phrase, "but it's not one of mine. And my name is Zan or Alexzandra, not Sun Dweller."  
  
Jet chuckled softly, "You have some acid to you, I'll give you that. But I'd accept the Sun Dweller tag if I were you, at least for a while."  
  
"Really, Morlock?" Zan asked emphasizing the title of his community. "And why the fuck is that, hm?"  
  
The boy turned impossible blue eyes on Zan and pinned her where she stood. "Because that's what you are. When you think of warmth, you think of the sun's heat on your skin. When you think of day, you see the noon sun overhead. That's what makes you an Upworlder. And until you can think differently you aren't really a Morlock, so don't expect people to treat you as such. And don't curse at me like that. I don't like it." He started moving again, not caring if she could match his long strides.  
  
"That's not fair to judge me like that. It's not like I was born down here," Zan retorted in a wild guess about his attitude and heritage. "I grew up on the surface, you can't just expect me to abandon that."  
  
"Yes, we can," he answered with some venom. "When you come to us, you come all the way. Either you're a Morlock and you pledge yourself to us, or you're no one worth our time. Our community is too important to let a surface cast off cause problems with her mind-set. And for your information, I wasn't born down here. I joined three years ago. So asking you to become one of us isn't a Herculean feat; I'm proof it can be done."  
  
They came to another barrier gate and Jetsam pulled out his set of keys. "This is the last gate before we reach Morlock home sites. If you want to turn back, now's the time." He waited until Zan shook her head in the negative before opening the lock. Like he had done previously, Jet refastened the mechanism behind them.  
  
"People can't leave if they want to?" Zan asked panicked. She was afraid of being trapped, because not even her mutant gifts let her escape enclosed rooms.   
  
"Sure they can," muttered Jet. "We only lock and guard the main tunnel because it's the one outsiders take to get here. There are branch tunnels everywhere that can lead you out."   
  
He took the Bo staff he had been using as a walking stick and slid it into its carrier on his back. "C'mon, we'll probably meet up soon with your Haven friend, Skitter. Her home site is on the community rim, because she takes her kid up to the surface all the time. Says she may have been forced through fate to join us, but that her kid doesn't have to live like this.  
  
"Doesn't sound very Morlock-like," Zan remarked following the taller youth.   
  
"No it doesn't, which is probably why you two will get on so good," Jet replied easily. When he heard the girl snort behind him, he glanced in her direction, a question in his eyes.  
  
Zan hurriedly explained, "I doubt she'll have any love for me. Em, I meant the woman I was living with, she's an empath. She felt extreme guilt coming off Leigh one day and had some of us kids keep an eye on her. Turns out she was stealing from the residents, so the Haven council kicked her out."   
  
She thought back to the awful day sometime afterward, when Skitter had returned carrying one dead child and dragging an almost frozen one behind her. "Leigh didn't do real well on her own, so they sent her here," Zan finished her explanation.  
  
Jet seemed to be lost in thought, and he came back as Alexzandra finished. "Leigh's a pretty name. She doesn't use it down here, though; we all just call her Skitter. We leave behind our surface lives when we join, some with good reason. Morlocks even change how they look sometimes to make the difference in their lives more visible."   
  
"Did you?" Zan asked, boldly reaching out to touch one of Jet's pointed ear tips.  
  
He pulled away from the questing contact of her fingertips on his skin. "Of course! I looked as human as you before I came down here," Jet said with a snort. "I picked up the Vulcan look and the skin and hair color about a year after I was here. My own personal rebellion against the world."  
  
"Sort of," Zan mused, "like getting tattoos and strange piercings to annoy your parents, I guess."   
  
"Yeah, something like that," Jet agreed, "Except it's to further annoy the people on the surface who recognize you as mutant on sight anyway."  
  
Zan frowned in thought, then asked, "But if you were human looking to begin with, how were you recognized as a mutant on sight?"  
  
Jet's face hardened and his lips drew into an ugly thin line. "Some things, like my life on the surface, are just none of your business. Don't ask me again." After that they walked in aching quiet once more, the soft sound of water flowing in the distance.   
  
Zan wasn't sure how exactly she had pissed off the Morlock with her question, but it had been unintentional. She needed all the friends she could make from here on in, and starting off with someone angry with her was against the plan. 'Besides,' she thought, 'knowing what he was like before he was a Morlock doesn't really matter. I don't intend to give my life story before I was a Havenite.'  
  
"Look, I'm sorry," Zan apologized. "I didn't realize I was pushing a button with you. Don't be mad for keeps."  
  
Jet's face smoothed out and he began talking to her again as if nothing had happened between them. His voice dropped low as he picked up Leigh's story again, "Skitter was turned away from a city run shelter. Did you know that? They took one look at her mutant looking rat eyes, and turned her family away. It was below freezing and her kids were under four. It was a sin."  
  
"I know," Zan answered in equally hushed tones. She knew the story already. Up on the surface, the TV showed images of bigger than life mutants who ran out of control. Their feelings of abandonment by the human race and the anger caused by that fueled them to lash out in destructive ways. The news followed each act like vultures on dead meat. But it was the small petty acts, never seen on the screen, that were far more disturbing; and there was no reason for them except fear and there was no real reason for the fear to begin with.  
  
"Well, well. What's this flotsam and jetsam floating by my door?" Skitter asked, making an appearance as if called out of thin air by their conversation. She stood at the entrance of a small branch tunnel, the opening strung across by wire with a rag door. Resting on Leigh's hip, her five year old with the same rat black eyes and frayed looking hair stared at them with a youngster's curiosity.  
  
"Skitter," Jet addressed her bowing slightly from his waist. "You know Alexzandra of course."  
  
The petite woman stepped forward with a nod, looking over Zan with sharp darting eyes. "Em's pup, little Zanna. Been a year since we met last, eh pup? Yes a year. Bet you didn't think then you'd be out of 'aven like me, did ya?"  
  
The question had lacked any malice in the tone, but Zan still felt like she needed to defend herself. "Not being a thief like you at the time, no I didn't think I would be sharing your fate."   
  
Jet sucked in a noisy breath, and the child looked to its mother for a cue for reaction to the unfolding scene. Skitter didn't seem to be taking any offense though. She was a picture of calm.  
  
"But," Zan finished grinning, "here I am now, and no better than you. So let's wipe the slate clean."  
  
Skitter nodded stiffly. "Of course, of course. We're square, you and me. Square and fair," Leigh chattered. Her voice had the same rodent qualities as her appearance. "I'd go as far to say a pair of old friends now. Old friends in a new place."  
  
The child kicked out of its mother's grasp, and slid down her short legs to scamper off. The five-year-old disappeared behind the turn of a passage, and everyone recognized that in moments the community would know of the new arrival.  
  
"Say," Skitter continued in her rat-a-tat speech, "old friend little pup, why don't you stay here with me. Hm? This ain't the Haven, Zanna girl. I could teach you. I could teach you good on how to be a Morlock."  
  
Zan glanced at Jet from the corner of her eye. If she hadn't been looking, she would have missed the twitch of his lips that held back a smile. 'He thinks we're about as Morlock as the FOH,' she thought in annoyance.   
  
"I have to take her to meet Callisto," Jet explained to Skitter. "But then you're more then welcome to take her under your wing."  
  
"Oh yes," Leigh agreed. "She has to meet the ones in charge. Can't hide her from them, no."   
  
She winked at Zan openly and added, "Don't worry, Em's pup, they aren't half as scary as Haven's bunch of goobers. They think they're big and bad. But you and me, we saw bad asses."  
  
Jet raised one navy eyebrow at that, but refrained from making a comment. He didn't like Skitter's casual attitude towards the mutants who helped run the 'Alley'. But he knew the Morlocks didn't run off residents like Haven did. "Scary or not, we better get a move on it. There will be hell to pay if Callisto has to come looking for us." He turned and started to walk away, not waiting to see if the newcomer followed him or not.   
  
"Callisto?" Zan whispered to Skitter.  
  
"Win her over by winning Caliban," the older mutant replied with a knowing tone.  
  
"Caliban?" Zan asked smiling.  
  
Skitter pushed her playfully. "You go, pup. Don't keep them waiting. No. I'll come soon. Then old friends will trade stories, good?"  
  
Zan nodded, still grinning, and rushed to catch up with Jetsam.  
  
  
The juncture used as a meeting space branched off into smaller tunnels, spaced like spokes on a wheel. Then each smaller tunnel branched into smaller spaces used as living sites, storage, or workspace. During the day normally, the meeting room was used for meals or to gather the children together for schooling lessons. Today, however, everyone seemed to have urgent business that kept him or her from departing the main chamber. Callisto knew they wanted to size up the newcomer, so she didn't chase them away.  
  
An outsider joining them in the Alley was nothing extraordinary, as it happened quite regularly. Tarbaby had brought down two new residents this week alone. However, someone coming in from Haven was different. Havenites avoided the tunnels as a rule, since the communities split years ago. They didn't want to come to the tunnels and be Morlocks. So when one of them worked their way down, everyone stopped to mark the occasion.  
  
"Haven will fall into the Alley one day," Analee had told Callisto once. And they were, one by one.  
  
Skitter's child, Dice, raced into the meeting room, his little bare feet making a pat-pat sound against the hard cement floor. "She's here, she's here!" The little boy cried. The muttering in the chamber moved like a tide rising and falling, crashing against the walls in aborted echoes; and bodies moved as people shuffled into the cliques that made up the social structure of the Morlock community. Eyes shifted to the tunnel that would disgorge the Upworlder, and everyone tried to not seem too eager.  
  
Callisto knelt to Dice and quietly spoke to the little rat child. Caliban stood at her side with a child like glee on his face. Today felt like an adventure, and Dice was a herald to the inner kingdom.  
  
After several minutes of speculation, Jetsam appeared through the tunnel entrance. He moved into the room carrying Zan in his wake. She looked surprised at the size of the gathering like she couldn't quite believe so many people lived in the Alley by choice, and that alone set disapproving tongues in motion again.   
  
Callisto stepped apart from the crowd and nodded curtly at the gangly sixteen-year-old. "Welcome to the Alley. We're the Morlocks."  
  
Zan nodded curtly, her eyes darting over the assembled group. Some present were mutated in ways they could never hope to hide. She tried not to stare anywhere too long, and her gaze finally came to rest on a pale, bald man with a simple smile. 'Caliban?' she wondered. Glancing about for the now familiar face of Jet, Zan realized he had disappeared as oddly as he had appeared the first time, and once again, she was on her own.  
  
~Fin~  
  
Part three soon...  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Part Three

Title: Flotsam and Jetsam Part Three  
  
Author: TangleToy or Tangles  
  
Email: TangleToy@hotmail.com or tangles@subreality.com  
  
Disclaimer: The Marvel Entertainment Group owns the universe I'm playing in. They also own: Callisto, Caliban, BrainCell, and Marrow. There is no copyright infringement intended, and I'm making no money off the creation or distribution of this story. It's all fun and games until someone pokes an eye out. However, Jet, Zan, Skitter, Mandrake, and the Haven setting are mine. They aren't making me any money either. Damn fictives. You feed and cloth them, and they run off and amuse people for free. Do they care that the writer who created them lives on Ramen? Oh no. I don't even get a Christmas card. Ingrates.   
  
Story Notes: This story is part three of a long ass fic that just won't leave me the hell alone. Pity me. Someone should since my muse points and laughs hysterically. This story is a sequel to another story I wrote. Confused? Up your dosage...no kidding. Stop in at my site and check out the rest of the series. http://www.crosswinds.net/~tangletoy Rated PG17 for horrible language. My mother won't even kiss me.   
  
Author's Notes: I'd like to thank my beta readers: Carma Sari, Novadear, Crantz, and Foe without whom coherency could not be achieved. Many thanks, and sloppy kisses to everyone. No MSTings or Pop Ups please. If you'd like to archive this piece, let me know so I can bookmark ya. Feedback can be sent to tangles@subreality.com Flamers will be hosed down and fed to rabid bampfs. Special hugs to Winter, Manda, and the folks in #novasolace You all make me smile, and that makes writing this much more fun. And now everyone knows whom to blame. ;)  
  
Summary: Zan is welcomed to the Morlocks, or not.   
  
Flotsam and Jetsam Part Three  
  
By TangleToy  
  
"Um, hi." Zan waved her fingertips in the direction of the massive group, her heart hammering like steel on an anvil. She hated being new all over again, hated it more than she could express. It was worse now because they obviously knew she had been coming. They had an advantage, which irked her to no end. Hawk among the sparrows; they looked at her with cautious eyes.  
  
"Found yourself kicked out of Haven, did you?" Mandrake barked, his tone carrying more than a vague disdain. "So what did you do, hmm? Not wipe your feet on the welcome mat?" There were some chuckles among the crowd, but they were silenced almost immediately by the sound of Callisto clearing her throat. There was a warning in that sound, and a danger telegraphed to those who needed it.   
  
"I suggest, old man," Callisto poured out in a voice like honey through gravel, "you should back down. Yes? Yes. I've already spoken on this, I have." Her dark eyes moved over the other Morlocks and Zan could sense some sort of will imposed strongly. Feet shuffled and eyes turned away from their leader's stare. It was the look of a lead bitch to a pack of wolves, and they could not shake off her stare.  
  
'That must be Callisto,' Zan thought. The woman's ragged appearance reminded her of Skitter's frayed one. Like a cloth left too long in the wind. They looked so similar that Zan began studying the faces around her to see if it was something created like Jet's pointed ears. Would she too me masked as a Morlock?  
  
A tall, gaunt giant stood behind Callisto grinning. His pale moon skin seemed to give off it's own light. 'And that should be Caliban.' She smiled at him, and was rewarded with the closest shiver of thrill a man can do without a dog's tail. He was gargoyled faced, but one sensed that it to was a mask, and the being beneath was far more beautiful.  
  
The sound of flowing water grew stronger and heads turned to the ceiling. Rain was making its way underground. It would get very cold in the tunnels soon. Some less interested moved out of the meeting junction, and where they stood chilled dampness hurried in to fill the void. The coolness spread until it was a presence that reached out and touched the sixteen-year-old's cheek, making Zan shudder. Cold was an enemy. So was starvation and greed.  
  
She shifted, uncomfortable in the sweater Em had given her. It was heavy from being damp, and the material felt greasy and itchy. The backpack, carrying her life from Haven, cut into her shoulders and ground against her bones. If it were possible to feel more cold, wet, and miserable, Zan didn't know how to achieve it. Her eyelids went half-mast, and she sighed deeply. 'Hate this. Hate this. Hate this.' No one was talking. They were waiting and staring, measuring her like a gem with a possible flaw. It made her want to scream, to throw up her hands and shout, "Damnit what do you want from me?" Or shatter to pieces.  
  
The touch at her elbow startled her, and she looked into the face of a woman much like Em. Wiry gray hair topped a face soft and warm. It confused her for a moment, but then the confusion slipped away, as did other minor worries like water drained from a cup. Instead, she felt warmth in her heart, and calmness. "Who are you?" she whispered. The room had seemed to melt away, leaving her and the old woman locked in a gaze. It was so familiar and cozy in the fuzzy state. She didn't want to leave it. Her heart ached for it, and she named the moment with her own mothers face.  
  
"My name is Ana Lee," the woman replied in the same whisper. Barely touches of breath were her words, but so heavy in the ears.  
  
"I'm Alexzandra."  
  
The woman smiled kindly as she stepped away, "I know. Everything will be okay." The room rushed back to them, but it wasn't half as bothersome now. The woman eased the rusk sack from her shoulders and dropped it were Zan could still see it.  
  
"Thank you, but unnecessary," Callisto told the older Morlock. "She'll make do, like the rest of us. We all manage, or we go back top side." Her lips set themselves in a thin line as she tried to decide how best to approach this. She didn't like that her people were objecting to a newcomer. An outcast was an outcast. No one was better than any other here. Except maybe herself, but then someone had to be a leader with Xavier's lap dog gone. Her fingers drummed along her hips, and she settled on bluntness for now. It had always worked before, and she was just damn good at it. Diplomacy was for fools and perfumed hands. "You're welcome to stay, but Haven is not welcome among the Morlocks. Say you're from Haven and we've no use for you here. No bed for you."  
  
"But, I thought?" Zan looked about confused, until Jet's words came back to her. 'You're not a Morlock until you can think like one.' Why was everyone treating her like a walking mistake? "Well hell. Screw it then," Zan sputtered and turned to leave. Was she ever going to be truly welcome anywhere? She spun and walked face first into the chest of someone taller than her and, when she tried to pull back, found she couldn't. "What the fuck?"  
  
"Ow," the chest rumbled with the words, and Zan's cheek peeled away to bounce back stuck again. "No need to throw yourself at me. I'm not that hard up for dates yet. Oh, wait. Yes I am. Oooh baby!"  
2  
"Someone peel her off Tarbaby, please?" Laughter broke out behind her. They were laughing. At her. It was salt to a gut wound.  
  
'Riiiight. Peel me off,' Zan thought and struggled to free herself. The more she struggled though, the more she stuck and the harder people laughed. It was like being caught on flypaper only worse, because she wasn't a fly and everyone was watching. "Let go, damn it!" She was undulating with his belly laughs.  
  
"Would if I could, sweetheart," the sticky youth replied chuckling. "You don't think I enjoy having you try to knee me and stick, do you? And say, mind removing your thumb from my eye? I'd sorta like to be able to see later."  
  
Hands were all over her like flesh colored spiders, and Zan's agitation grew to a fever pitch as they pulled. Her eyes pricked and her chest felt tight. A calm tried to creep over her, but knowing where it came from, she pushed it away and followed with a vicious elbow that was pulled into being a stomach jab. An old woman cried out, and Tarbaby staggered back sticking to the wall behind him. "Oof!"  
  
"She got Ana! Someone look at her eye."  
  
"Leave her stuck, that'd teach her."  
  
"You'd think living Upworld would have given her manners."  
  
"That tickles! Get your hand away from there."  
  
"You're not helping Tar! Stop laughing and try to be less...er, tarish."  
  
"It's not a toom-maaar."  
  
"That's not funny!"  
  
"Someone find Leech."  
  
"I'm stuck for suggestions!"  
  
"Tar, that's not funny!"  
  
"Leech!"  
  
  
The tiny room glowed with the warm yellow light of flickering candles. The smell of burnt oil, wax, and match sulfur created an incense of devotion, which no church could hope to equal. But that's what the room was, a church. A shrine built to a memory, where one could contemplate how to build a life around it in peace. The sacred hymn was a low keening sob, and it echoed in on itself, chasing its ghost around the room.   
  
Skitter rocked back and forth on her knees. She swallowed repeatedly trying to take back in her screams of rage before they passed her lips. Swallowed inside her, the pitiful why me's, and the muttered cruses of a crazy person. There were no tears but the old trails remained, etching a mask of deep inner pain.  
  
Once called Leigh, she had two children, named Eric and Manda, and a husband who loved her despite what she or the children looked like. The neighbors whispered, but it was all right. Inside their house was a world of love, and hate had no place there. But things change, and you can't always fix them. People's hearts hang themselves on new courses, and marriages break without the sound of tinkling glass. It's no one's fault. Things happen.   
  
Welfare can only do so much. There are so many mouths to feed with hands held out, and a pocket can only be so deep. Cracks open, people trip and fall through. No one notices one less hand when so many are clutching at you. No one realizes how hard it gets to keep on living; it's scary when you find your death would be cheaper than one more year of scratching out a life. Pushing through thoughts like that can make a person empty and tired. It takes the fight out of you, and you just don't care. Life is a series of rituals after that. Eat. Sleep. Survive. Quiet the children. Find shelter in rain. Eat. Sleep. Survive. You stop being a person. You just become a thing that moves on it's own. But you have the rituals. It's what keeps you from slashing your wrists and just stopping it all.  
  
Skitter was a thing, really just an it, and it was a small woman with two wailing sacks of flesh attached to her hips. Eat. Sleep. Survive. Quiet the children. Find haven in the rain. Find Haven. Survive. Survive. Survive. That's all she had tried to do. Damn the rules. She needed to feed her kids. They cried all the time, bellies so hungry. Little Dice and Jacks, both so tiny. But rules are rules, and screw your rituals. No stealing. No surviving. How dare they demand you do more than survive? Who could live through this?   
  
Than came winter on the streets. Shelters filled up with survivors of personal wars fought on soil closer than home. But there was no room at the inn. Baby Jesus my ass, and Merry Fucking Christmas to you too. Mutie! Mutie! Rat woman and your little ratfink brats, go survive somewhere else. Things happen. No one looks, no one sees, cracks open. People expect so much, but really, life can only offer. After that, it's up to you to do the living.  
  
The keening sound was louder now, and Skitter's rocking harder. Her hair swung over the guttering candles, and her movements put some of the weaker flames out. She couldn't be bothered to relight them. Her mind was too filled with the images of Jacks in her arms. Tiny blue lips pursed as if to kiss. The chattering teeth chattered no more, and her eyes were glassy with icy tears. Winter is a cruel, greedy woman, and she wants everything. There's no surviving when she holds you to her cold breast.  
  
"Skitter? You here?"  
  
Leigh swiped at still dry cheeks and breathed deeply. She flipped a switch deep inside, and a smile played across her features. She pushed aside the curtain that separated her private place from her dwelling, and went to greet her visitor. There were rituals to perform.  
  
  
  
Zan's face was red and raw from where they finally peeled her off Tarbaby. A man they called Healer had declared her just fine, and gave her a good scrubbing with a rag probably dirtier than she already was.   
  
"Well, that was fun."  
  
"Shut up, Tar."  
  
"Sheesh. I was only joking, Cal. Relax. You'll pop a vein or something."  
  
Most of the gathered crowd had wandered off to their own lives. As amusing as watching Zan humiliate herself was, there were things that had to be done and lives to get back to living.  
  
"Tar dear," Callisto warned, the dangerous tone creeping back into her voice, "do you really want to annoy me? Do you? I wouldn't if I were you. No, I wouldn't. Go play in sewage."  
  
"You wound me," the youth teased as he back-peddled from the room.   
  
"No, but I can, if you really want me to." She said it so casual and deadpan that Zan wondered if the feral woman was joking or not.   
  
By the look on Tarbaby's face, he was wondering himself. He backed up into Mandrake, who was entering with a pink haired child in toe.   
  
"Watch yourself, boy. You almost stepped on Sarah."  
  
"Sorry, Manny," Tarbaby replied flippantly as he tousled the girl's hair. Glancing back toward Zan, he gave a jaunty wave. "Later."  
  
The wrinkled, angry man, thumped closer to where Zan stood with Callisto. "I heard you almost killed yourself hugging Mr. StickyFingers. What's next? Going to trip and strangle yourself in your shoelaces?"  
  
"Bite me."  
  
"If you insist. Although it will be far more fun for me."  
  
"Mandrake, what do you need?" Callisto broke in. She had no intention of letting this degrade further. The day hadn't gone as planned as is.  
  
The old man frowned; upset by his chance to needle the Havenite was spoiled. "Doll, says there 's been people wandering the tunnels to the east of the community rim. I'm going to check it out and see what's what. I'm taking Sarah with me. She'll help me collect some interesting fungi I've seen growing lately."  
  
"Fine," Callisto agreed. "If you find something of importance, hurry the information back through BrainCell."  
  
"Don't worry." He put emphasis on his ending. "I know how to follow rules." He shot Zan a smug smile that said, 'I've got your number,' before moving away.  
  
"Boy, you people are friendly. Any friendlier and people would flock here as a vacation spot." Zan watched the man move off with the girl in tow. She turned back once, and Zan winced at a strange horn growing out the side of her head.  
  
"Friendlier than the streets," Callisto replied, low and fierce.  
  
Zan rubbed her still pink face. "Right."  
  
The grizzled leader raised an eyebrow. "Why did you get kicked out of Haven? I'm curious."  
  
"You don't know? The way you knew I was coming, I assumed..."  
  
"If I knew, would I ask? Why speak if you haven't a thought between your ears?"  
  
"I broke a rule. I got kicked out." Callisto stared hard at her, and the air seemed to get thick.   
  
'Must be leadership through intimidation around here,' Zan thought. 'Not much different than Haven.'  
  
"If I ask again, you'll find your welcome even more friendly."  
  
Zan growled and crossed her arms. "Fine. Whatever. I was kicked out for using my mutant abilities on another resident."  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"And they kicked you for that?"  
  
"Well, I did probably kill him."  
  
"Probably?"  
  
"Hard to check since his body has left this plane of whatnot or some other," she waved her hand to indicate the room. "Time stuff. I'm not really sure on the specifics. No one's ever bothered to help me figure it out."  
  
Callisto frowned, "I see. So they thought sending you here was a good thing."  
  
"Apparently."  
  
"You don't agree with that?"  
  
Throwing her hands in the air, Zan shook her head, "What do you want me to say? Yay, I'm in the sewers."  
  
"These aren't the sewers. The sewers are above us. This is 'The Alley' and it's a series of abandoned tunnels built by the government."  
  
"Whatever. It's damp, it smells, and there's rats."  
  
"Oh, you're a charmer, you are. You're charming me into wanting to slap you. I can see they must be heartbroken to have lost you. Heartbroken Haven, lost their favorite girl." The words had their intended effect, and Zan shrunk into herself. "You're confined to the tunnels for two weeks. You go up world and you stay there. You do as you're asked, and you don't give me cause to kick your ass. If you can manage that, you can stay. But I may just kick your ass for the fun of it."  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
"Get out of here. Go find someplace to sleep." Zan didn't need to be told twice, and she rushed out of the common area. Heading back the way she came, the feeling of fleeing pressed into her back.  
  
  
Jet moved through the tunnels with a spring to his step. He twirled his Bo staff, and occasionally stopped to practice a move he'd been taught. "Pow, Pow," he grunted as he thwacked imaginary attackers.   
  
"Friend Jet went to the surface again?" Caliban asked coming out of the darkness ahead. Instantly, the giant found himself alone in the tunnel, Jet having manipulated the surface of the light to camouflage himself from sight.  
  
"Oh, jeez. It's just you, Caliban," Jet said stepping back into view like stepping out of thin air. "Give me a damn heart attack, why don't you?"  
  
"Caliban sorry."  
  
"It's okay. Just make more noise when you come through. Give me warning."  
  
"Caliban thought Friend Jet was a guard. Caliban thought you know when people are coming."  
  
"Yeah, well. I was just..." He floundered for a way to sound less irresponsible.  
  
"Waving your stick around?" Caliban helpfully supplied. He turned and started leading Jet back towards the community.  
  
"Something like that," Jet replied grinning and following. Caliban was all right. A bit slow, but a nice enough man. The two looked odd standing together. Caliban was taller than the average person, and while Jet was no slouch, he seemed small compared to the other; and, their skins, moonlight pale and midnight sky complimented each other in a stark way. "Just remember, my going to the surface is a secret."  
  
"Caliban remembers. Friend Jet has to go to learn how to wave his stick right."  
  
Jet chuckled. "Yeah. No one down here has a clue about offensive strengths besides brawling. I swear, if we ever do get attacked, we're in some serious trouble."  
  
"Morlocks getting attacked?"  
  
"No, no. But if we ever do, is all I meant."  
  
"Don't worry. Caliban save everyone."  
  
Jet laughed, a warm deep sound. "Sure you will. You and me. We'll fight all the villains off and be heroes. Like Skywalker and Han Solo."  
  
"Caliban is Han Solo this time."  
  
"No way, man, I'm Han. All the way."  
  
"Not this time. Caliban was saving the princess today," the gentle man said with pride. His chest puffed out and he looked like the savior of every distressed damsel and treed kitten.  
  
"And what princess were you saving today, Big Guy?"  
  
"Caliban save Heaven Girl," he replied stopping to mime the rescue. He play-acted putting someone against the wall and setting his foot against an imaginary chest. Then he grabbed another invisible body and gave a great yank.  
  
"Someone got stuck to Tarbaby again? He needs to wear a shirt, so people don't trip and stick."  
  
"Caliban save Heaven Girl from Tarbaby."  
  
"Heaven Girl?" Jet looked puzzled as to who that was. His grin was fast and wide, when the answer finally dawned. "Sheesh. I would have loved to see that. Bet she was a wet cat, all hiss and spit."  
  
"Not a wet cat. She was a girl."  
  
"Yeah I know, but I meant..." he trailed off as they reached the community and the topic of discussion came into view. She hadn't seen them yet, so Jet took the opportunity to bow out of sight. The air around him seemed to ripple, but it was his ability to change the surface of the light around him. When the ripple worked itself out, Jet was gone from view. "Don't let on I'm here." He hurriedly whispered to his friend.  
  
Caliban sniffed the air, testing it and turned to look right at the strange youth. "Why Friend Jet hide? Don't you like the Heaven Girl?"  
  
Zan had gone looking for Skitter after her meeting with Callisto. Not finding her old friend in the area she kept, Zan had gone in search of her. Instead of Skitter though, she had found Caliban, who seemed to be talking to himself.  
  
"Um, are you alright?" she asked.  
  
Caliban spun around, his eyes wide, shaking his head. "Caliban fine. Caliban was not talking to himself."  
  
"I didn't say you were, but you did look like you were talking to yourself when I walked up."  
  
He shook his head and repeated, "Caliban was not talking to himself."  
  
"Okay. You weren't talking yourself. Wonderful. Glad we got that out of the way. So, whom were you talking to?"  
  
This was not what he was expecting her to ask, and Caliban found himself at a loss. "Um...Caliban was...er, Caliban was talking to Han Solo." He nodded solemnly as if this explained everything, and the meaning of the universe.  
  
"Han Solo? Riiiight. Do you take medication?"  
  
Jet couldn't help himself. He appeared suddenly bent double laughing, leaning on his staff. Caliban seemed very relieved to see him.  
  
Zan sighed and shook her head. "Nice to meet you again, Mr. Solo." She looked less than pleased that he had been hiding.  
  
She moved to walk away, but Jet sobered and called out, "Wait. Don't leave mad. I didn't mean anything hiding like that."  
  
"Sure. You thought avoiding me was a friendly gesture of welcome." Caliban moved to stand by and watch, his head moving from first one then the other.  
  
"I just was playing." Jet offered, sliding his staff back to its home sheath. "I was going to tug on your hair or something."  
  
"Well, sorry your amusement was ruined. Maybe you can find a baby to kick."  
  
"Ouch. You're in a pissy mood. Get stuck to Tarbaby or something?"  
  
Zan's eyebrows rose into her hairline, and her mouth opened in an O of surprise. She turned and shot a glare at Caliban who promptly looked abashed. She glared again at Jet. "You can be a real jerk." She turned to walk away again, and even shrugged out of Jet's grasp when he grabbed her shoulder.  
  
"Wait. Don't stomp off. Okay. That was a cheap shot. Wait. Come back. Don't leave all mad." His long strides brought him to her side quickly, and he stepped around to stand in her path. "Wait. You haven't told me. How did it go? Are you staying?"  
  
"What do you care?" Zan snapped trying to step around him.   
  
He thwarted her and held her arms. "Would you stop being so angry? Don't be so hard on me."  
  
It may have been the sound of his voice, quiet and warm to her ear. Perhaps it was the feel of someone so close and touching her, which wasn't a regular occurrence. Or it may have been the feel of his warm hands through the itchy sweater. Whatever it was, Zan suddenly found herself very aware of how close he stood to her, and how pleasant it really was. She could see how smooth this odd matte colored skin was, and the pointed tip of his ears, as they peeked out from between strands of long, navy hair.  
  
"See, Heaven Girl likes Han Solo." Caliban announced.   
  
Zan and Jet quickly broke apart. Her cheeks were pink and he himself looked slightly ashamed at being caught doing something. "Sorry, Sorry." Jet mumbled. He looked away, and cleared his throat a couple times.  
  
"Well...I, I've got to go find Skitter. And my backpack has gone missing, so I've got to find that for more clothes."  
  
"Right." Jet agreed, a small smile ghosting his lips, "So I guess that means you're staying?"  
  
Zan stopped and glanced back, "Yeah. Looks like I'm the newest Morlock. Ain't that a kick?" She walked backward a moment regarding the other two, then jogged off down another branch of the tunnels. Jet watched the spot she had disappeared from, his thoughts chasing themselves around his head.  
  
"Caliban thinks Friend Jet likes the Heaven Girl."  
  
"Well, Friend Jet thinks Caliban doesn't know what he's talking about." He strolled off towards the main chambers, a happy whistle floating back to Caliban.  
  
Caliban stood watching the youth walk away. He smiled and made plans all this own. "Caliban is very smart. And Han Solo always loves the princess." Then with a nod, he made his way through the tunnels.  
  
  
"Very good, Sarah," Mandrake praised the little girl. Truthfully she had given him a moss he already had in his stocks, but it wasn't often a child took interest in anything other than themselves so he encouraged her. Besides, the things he gathered now could ease someone's cough come the winter. With so many, he could never gather enough. That thought made his temper simmer. They had enough people to care for, who came to them all the conventional ways. There wasn't enough room or will for the cast off from the sister community.   
  
"Are you mad at me, Manny?" the child asked fearfully. She had come upon him too quiet for notice and he startled.  
  
"No, sweetheart, just mad at the old bones. I'm not what I used to be." The lie sufficed, and she merrily scampered ahead. He watched the pink hair turn a tunnel and sighed. How could they teach these children to have any pride in themselves at all, if they allowed themselves to be a dump for unwanted from Haven and the ilk? The Morlock community wasn't a halfway house and it certainly wasn't redemption. 'We've come to far,' he mused, 'to be made into a pile of nothing. Too many plans are in play. We're a new civilization. A society not to be bred into meat by careless husbandry.' If the Morlocks were to survive this winter, or any winter afterward, he would have to make them understand this. He would merely have to sacrifice that girl for the lesson.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
